A Study in Snapshots
by KCS
Summary: Using a prompt table from a LJ Community, one hundred 100-word snapshots focusing on the Holmes/Watson relationship. Nonslash, AU or Canon, multiple POVs, and chronological time frame. Prompt #99 - Memory. Prompt #100 - Beginnings.
1. Beginnings

**_Prompt #1 - Beginnings._**

* * *

I looked round as I waited for an answer to my ring. A pretty improvement on Montague Street – but how the devil had the man been able to afford this? Last I'd seen, his landlord was threatening eviction over a combination experiment-gone-wrong and three weeks' back-rent.

Landlady was an improvement, too, thank heaven.

Holmes was waiting in a snug sitting room for me, impatient as always.

"Finally swallowed your pride over that forgery, Lestrade?"

Insufferable amateur.

I glanced up quizzically as limping footsteps sounded above us.

"I've a fellow-lodger," self-proclaimed genius stated the obvious.

Poor innocent chap, whoever he was.


	2. Middles

**_Prompt #2 - Middles._**

* * *

"Lestrade, of all the imbecilic, idiotic –"

"A-_hem_!"

I bit back my defense, watching the Doctor's eyebrows go ceiling-ward as he cleared his throat. Wonder of wonders, that insufferable detective's face flushed ever-so-slightly under the stern gaze.

"Well, I suppose I cannot expect every policeman to possess the immense knowledge that I –"

I grinned, ignoring the insult, as the eyebrows went higher (if that were possible), tanned fingers drumming on the table. Holmes sighed.

"My apologies, Inspector."

Interesting, Holmes's new fellow-lodger. Pity his main occupation at the moment seemed to be playing mediator between that genius and us mortals.


	3. Ends

**_Prompt #3 - Ends._**

**_Note: These 100 prompts were not given in chronological order, but to make it a bit more challenging for myself I decided to use them in the order they came and force myself to be chronological. Tell me if you grasp the idea of what is ending._**

* * *

It was indeed a mystery.

He was shocked when I had asked him along on the Jefferson Hope affair, but scarcely more than I that I _had_ asked. And when, two weeks later, Lestrade had telegraphed asking for my help in a robbery case, I had astonished us _both_ by requesting his company yet again.

But why?

Did I really need someone to take notes for me? I had done so for three years now, why should that change?

'Twas a pretty problem, should I ever attempt to solve it. But not now – we are already late for the theatre.


	4. Hours

**_Prompt #4 - Hours._**

* * *

Three hours was far too long for him to traipse about London in a rainstorm, and judging from the slow limp upon the stairs, he had discovered that the hard way. I paused in my concerto as he more staggered than walked in, shedding dripping raincoat.

"Nasty out there, eh?"

"Quite."

The terse reply was breathless with pain, but I had learnt in three months that he was the proudest man I'd ever seen – no pity was wanted.

I switched to a softer air as he sat heavily, hoping to elicit a smile.

Ah well. A snore would suffice, too.


	5. Days

**_Prompt #5 - Days._**

* * *

"'S a nice 'ouse, it is."

"Meh. 'S fair."

"Cor, but can tha' new lan'lady of 'is cook!"

A chorus of enthusiastic agreements echoed round the circle.

"All roight, tha's enough," Wiggins's voice rose above the clamour in an authoritative tone, "Yew 'eard Mr. 'Olmes, we're supposed ta look for this 'Merican chap, Jeffers'n 'Ope."

"Wig, 'oo was tha' bloke in there wit' Mr. 'Olmes?" the smallest, youngest lad piped up, little green eyes sparkling.

"'E's an ol' soldier, an' a doctor."

"Blimey!"

Wiggins snorted. "'E'll _need_ ta be a soldier, else 'e won' last more'n…ten days in tha' mad'ouse."


	6. Weeks

**_Prompt #6 - Weeks._**

* * *

Eight weeks since the Jefferson Hope affair – eight weeks and in them only two ridiculously simplistic cases, each cleared up within less than forty-eight hours. My mind rebels at such stagnation, and in the absence of a police-problem my brain has fastened upon an ever-mysterious conundrum in the persona of a certain ex-army doctor.

These eight weeks have been a source of frustration for him also; blustering, rainy days have made him a prisoner in Baker Street, incarcerated by his frail health, and it shows in his chafing against such immobility.

Yet another common interest I have discovered we share.


	7. Months

**_Prompt #7 - Months._**

* * *

Six months…that was all we had planned when we first took these temporary lodgings, and that ends tomorrow. Four times I have found newspapers on the table with 'To Let' advertisements circled.

And yet I am loathe to voice an opinion, as he may very well be so weary of my acidic company that he wishes to leave as much as I wish him to stay; heaven only knows where I may find another such amiable companion.

I test the waters by tossing the advertisements into the fire – and that now-familiar endearing smile proves me to be wrong, thank heaven.


	8. Years

**_Prompt #8 - Years._**

* * *

I look up as a muffled cry reaches me where I sit reading. I hesitate, but upon hearing the sound again I go to his bedside, debating whether to wake him and thereby compromise his pride.

Even after two years, I yet have no conception of the ghosts that regularly haunt his dreams, and one appears to be distressing him now, judging by his troubled, fretful movements.

I straighten the tangled coverlet and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. Within moments he quiets, breathing evenly again.

Evidently ex-soldiers are not the only men to be haunted by our pasts.


	9. Sea

**_Prompt #9 - Sea._**

* * *

"Holmes, the next time you accept a case on the Continent, you're taking your own notes."

"Why didn't you tell me you got seasick?"

"I _don't_ normally, except in rough sea like this," he moaned.

My initial amusement had rapidly faded to concern – he looked frightfully miserable.

"Can I do anything?"

"Leave, please."

"Why?"

"Because," he said dryly, "in this storm there's no possible way I'd make it out to the rail, and this is not going to be a pleasant place very shortly."

"I'll stay. You may need something."

For once, I appeared to have said the right thing.


	10. Shore

**_Prompt #10 - Shore._**

* * *

I put a hand under his elbow as we disembarked, but he shook it off with asperity.

"You know, you may be a competent physician, but you're a perfectly horrid patient."

I received only a scowl for my solicitations and attempted humour until he tried to pick up a heavy piece of luggage and his shoulder protested the strain. He dropped it painfully, the frown deepening.

I sighed. "Would you swallow your infernal pride for just a few minutes, Doctor, and allow me?"

For a moment our gazes locked, a wordless war of wills progressing.

"Thank you," he growled finally.


	11. Faith

**_Prompt #11 - Faith._**

* * *

"There will be other cases, Holmes," I said gently, "you did the best you could."

"It wasn't enough, Doctor!" he snapped, fists clenching, shoulders slumping, "I lost! Not only my client but his case! I am a _failure_, do you understand?"

I laid a hand on his shoulder, and when he did not flinch I spoke.

"Do you think that every patient I've ever treated _lived_, Holmes?"

He started, glancing at me.

"Every profession has its losses, my dear fellow. Yours is no different."

He was silent for a long moment. A tiny smile, and…

"Come, Watson. Let's go home."


	12. Trust

**_Prompt #12 - Trust._**

**_And no, for anyone who was cracking up at the order of this and the previous one, the next prompt is NOT 'pixie dust'. :)_**

* * *

"Are you ready, Doctor?"

He nodded, glancing about nervously. I knew he was thoroughly uncomfortable with the idea of burgling a house; but something, either adventurousness or loyalty, had won over his fear.

"If something happens, run for that wall and over it, don't wait for me," I hissed as the latch clicked.

He glanced at the distance, then at his bad leg, and his brows knitted. If we _were_ caught, there was a good chance that he might not make the wall.

"Do you think that's a strong possibility?"

"I've taken every precaution."

"Then I am right behind you."


	13. Respect

**_Prompt #13 - Respect._**

* * *

Holmes had burst into the Yard, demanding to see Gregson immediately; while the detective saw how close he could drive him to suicide, I gave the Doctor an unofficial tour of the complex.

I saw his attention perk when we passed the target practice area.

"Cummings, let the Doctor have that pistol," I said absently, more for conversation's sake than real interest.

The sergeant relinquished the gun, and the Doctor grinned and fired, barely taking time to aim.

Cummings' appreciative whistle drew my attention to the dead-center shot on the target across the room.

No wonder Holmes kept him around.


	14. Sorrow

**_Prompt #14 - Sorrow._**

* * *

I have sat at many bedside vigils as a physician, but none have ever filled me with a dread like this one. Deadly injury in a patient becomes exponentially multiplied when said patient is someone one knows dearly.

Dearly. Five years ago I should have laughed the notion to scorn. Sherlock Holmes was odd, eccentric, and even abrasive…and yet I find now that the idea of losing my friend is absolutely unspeakable.

A swamp adder was one thing, this gang of murderers quite another – I had not bargained upon an anguishing bedside vigil when I'd first agreed to follow him.


	15. Joy

**_Prompt #15 - Joy._**

* * *

_That did not go as planned_ is my first thought upon regaining awareness. I do believe I've been run over by an omnibus…

I shift uncomfortably…extremely bad idea. I moan, as if that will make things feel better. It does not, but the soothing voice beside me does, and I am finally able to open my eyes.

"Watson...?"

How pathetically weak my voice sounds. Quite embarrassing.

"The gang?" I manage.

"Shush. They're all in jail," he says softly, patting my hand.

"Don't…shush me, Doctor," I favour him with a feeble scowl.

Finally, _finally_ he smiles, though his eyes remain over-bright.


	16. Purple

**_Prompt #16 - Purple._**

* * *

While arriving home was wonderful, the sunny countryside was far more appealing than this rain, which accentuated the pain from my old wounds – the very reason Holmes had insisted I accept an invitation for a week's holiday in Kent.

"That you, Watson?" Holmes bellowed down the stairs. Yes, home indeed.

"Yes," I shouted back wearily, and a moment later he came skidding down the steps, waving a thick missive aloft.

"Just in time, my dear fellow!"

"A case, then?"

He smirked, handing me the message. I felt my eyes widen.

"Moving up in the world, eh?"

"A case involving _royalty_?"


	17. Red

**_Prompt #17 - Red._**

* * *

I hastily slid the pile of foolscap under a book as Holmes burst into the room, totally ignoring my presence, grabbing his wallet and slamming the door behind him for the second time that day.

I grinned and withdrew the stack of papers once more, checking them carefully for errors. At last I had finished – my very first attempt not only at a novel, but also at chronicling one of Holmes's cases. I paused, biting my pen and thinking of the perfect title. My eye fell upon a later passage in the tale, and I smiled.

_A Study in Scarlet_.


	18. Black

**_Prompt #18 - Black._**

* * *

I collapsed numbly onto the settee, crumpling the telegram into a tiny ball as if doing so would reverse its contents.

"Doctor? Are you all right, sir?"

Our landlady's worried voice sounded as if from a distance, and I barely remember answering affirmatively. She shot me a disbelieving look and left, thank heaven, before I further lost my composure.

I had not seen my brother in several years – since before my service – but that did not lessen the agony of death-loss at all.

Part of me was glad Holmes was on the Continent…the other wished so desperately he were here!


	19. White

**_Prompt #19 - White._**

* * *

He was excited as a child showing an uncle a new toy when he took me to Paddington to see it – a new (new to him anyway) consulting room, fairly sparkling with cleanness.

I had been not a little put-out to discover he was considering returning to practice, but it served me right for not offering to split my fees with him. He did need an income, now that he was no longer pensioning, and he wasn't going to take charity from me.

He glanced shyly at me. "Can I still come along on your cases after hours?"

"You'd better."


	20. Blue

**_Prompt #20 - Blue._**

* * *

Boredom. Black mood. Blue funk. Whatever it was, I was _drowning_ in it.

The door slamming brought my mind back lethargically, and I realised it was nearly ten. Watson stumbled into the sitting room and collapsed onto the settee with a sigh.

"What kept you?"

"New baby," was the murmured response, "blazes, I'm so tired."

"Go to bed."

"Can't," he said sleepily, "have…prescriptions to record…"

"With your eyes closed?" I took the stack of papers and ledger from an unresponsive hand.

"Have to have them done by tomorrow morning," he muttered.

"Go to bed. I've nothing else to do, anyway."


	21. Friends

**_Prompt #21 - Friends._**

* * *

Watson slammed my door shut on the pile of clutter we had just shoved into the bedroom.

"One of these days, you're not going to have me around to clean up your mess before your clients get here," he hissed, scrambling back to a nonchalant fireside position.

_Heaven help me then,_ my single thought as I introduced myself.

"Sherlock Holmes. My friend and colleague, Dr. Watson."

I halted, realising that was the first time I had actually introduced him as _'friend'_ before _'colleague'_. Odd.

But perhaps I should do it more often if it would elicit that particular shy smile.


	22. Enemies

**_Prompt #22 - Enemies._**

* * *

Hopkins interrupted me, poking his obnoxious head into my office and hollering, "You might want to see this, Inspector!"

I sighed, going to the door and looking out.

"What the –"

"Not looking too good, is he?" he asked conversationally.

"The Doctor, or that bruiser Holmes is half-strangling?"

"Well, more the latter. Couldn't he be liable for assault, even if the chap is a murderer?"

"Only if one of us books him for it."

"He tried to stab the Doctor."

"More power to Holmes, then. Bloody idiot."

"Mmhm. No quicker way to make an enemy out of _that_ particular detective."


	23. Lovers

**_Prompt #23 - Lovers._**

* * *

_"I really cannot congratulate you."_

Words spoken in haste, especially on emotional matters, have never been my strong point.

He had awkwardly laughed about his _'judgment surviving the ordeal'_, but I could observe in his eyes that I had unwittingly wounded his sensitive soul.

He had told me the news first - a thrilled young man to his closest friend - and I had promptly squelched the excitement in the first shock of what I'd heard.

Sometimes, for all my intelligence, I can be remarkably stupid.

I shuffle a bit reluctantly up the second flight of steps. _Let's try this again, Sherlock…_


	24. Family

**_Prompt #24 - Family._**

* * *

"Do you have the ring?"

"Watson, you asked me not ten seconds ago!"

"I did? Oh." He gulped nervously, withdrew his watch.

"You've two minutes."

"Do I look all right?"

"Yes, now calm down," I said softly, picking a piece of lint off the immaculate black.

"I – I'm glad you're here," he whispered.

"You didn't seriously think I would refuse?"

"Not to come, no," he replied more steadily, "but I did have doubts as to your agreeing to be my best man. Thank you, Holmes."

"No need. I had nothing better to do today anyway."

_Finally_, he laughed. About time.


	25. Strangers

**_Prompt #25 - Strangers._**

* * *

"Darling, we're going to miss our train…"

"We have two minutes."

"John!"

"I must admit responsibility for that mentality, Miss Morst – _Mrs. Watson_," I amended, "we've rarely boarded a train whilst it was stationary."

The lady laughed, and Watson grinned ruefully before assisting her into the carriage. Then he turned to me, fidgeting nervously and extending his hand.

I blinked and took it, and was abruptly startled when he pulled me closer in a very awkward, rough half-embrace. To my chagrin, I found I could not be annoyed.

"You'll never be a stranger at Baker Street, Watson," I finally managed.


	26. Teammates

**_Prompt #26 - Teammates._**

* * *

I was endeavouring to politely listen to ramblings of their honeymoon travels, when Mrs. – I still stumble over the pronoun – _Mrs_. Watson rose suddenly.

"I am going to run over to Mrs. Forrester's, darling."

"But you were just there this morning?" Watson said, puzzled.

"I forgot a few things, dear."

My friend's wife glanced from her husband to me…was that a wink she sent me? Judging from the glint in her eye, it was indeed.

Almost…almost as if to say she was willing to work _with_ me in a certain matter we both shared an interest in.

Remarkable woman, that.


	27. Parents

**_Prompt #27 - Parents._**

* * *

"He's dying, Dr. Watson," said she. "For three days he's been sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day."

"You should have sent for me!" I demanded unsteadily as I scrambled for my bag, calling to the maid to close the surgery for the afternoon.

In the cab, I laid a hand on the lady's trembling fingers.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I should not have blamed you for his stupidity."

As she nodded wordlessly, I was struck by the fact that she looked scarce less frantic than I – more like a worried mother than a mere landlady.


	28. Children

**_Prompt #28 - Children._**

* * *

_April 20, 1891_

How I hated storms like this – not the balmy rains that brought a beautiful green to London's greyness, but the depressing drizzles that brought chill and gloom to the city.

I descended the cab, pulling my bag from the seat, when I espied a small figure huddled up in the doorway opposite. Puzzled, I motioned the lad over and he slunk reluctantly to me.

"Wiggins, what are you doing here?"

"Mr. 'Olmes's orders, Doctor," the boy said uncomfortably, "s'pos'd ta watch yer 'ouse 'ere."

I felt very cold suddenly, and not from the rain. What was happening?


	29. Birth

**_Prompt #29 - Birth._**

* * *

"_Look out_!"

I shove Watson to the side even as our guides scatter. We stumble against a nearby outcropping seconds before a boulder thunders downwards, crushing my hat.

Watson's face blanches as I dash to the top of the cliff, leaving him limping behind me.

No one in sight.

But in the back of my mind a tiny doubt has been born…that perhaps this may be the one case from which I shall not emerge unscathed.

If I emerge at all.

But I swear by all I hold dear, if I _do_ fall, Watson shall not fall with me.


	30. Death

**_Prompt #30 - Death._**

* * *

"I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not lived wholly in vain," I remarked. "If my record were closed to-night I could still survey it with equanimity."

"I do wish you would stop acting as if that were the only possible outcome to this," he whispered, glancing from person to shadowed corner to doorways behind us.

He did not understand how impatient I was to crown my career with this successful removal of that most dangerous man.

Or perhaps he _did_ understand, and that was why his eyes were already becoming haunted.


	31. Sunrise

**_Prompt #31 - Sunrise._**

* * *

Intuition. Sixth sense. I prefer to think of if as instinct. And it is telling me I probably shall not live to see another sunrise like this.

I finger my revolver, glancing out the window at this village, already bustling in the dawn of a new day. We are being followed. I can sense him, feel him…close behind us, far too close.

My time is running out, I know.

"Holmes, what on earth are you doing up at this hour?"

I turn round at the sleepy voice behind me, shoving the gun into my pocket. My vigil is over now.


	32. Sunset

**_Prompt #32 - Sunset._**

* * *

Brilliant shades of red and gold tinge the clouds above the Alpine village where a man stands alone in a window of the Englischer Hof.

The police and reporters have all gone, the telegrams have been sent.

The farewells have not, and never will be, said. It is too late.

And finally releasing the control that had sustained through the horrible day, John Watson slumps down the wall to the floor, his head in his hands.

Behind him, the sun's last rays gently sweep over a ledge above the Reichenbach Falls and a lonely figure, torn between guilt and necessity.


	33. Too Much

**_Prompt #33 - Too Much._**

* * *

"And that is all I can tell you, gentlemen. I thank you for your patience."

I swallowed hard, partly from what had just been discussed and partly because the sight of the Doctor in complete black save his starched white shirt was…disturbing, to say the least.

His hollow eyes met mine as I clasped his hand, and I shuddered, for he looked as though a part of his soul had been left behind in Switzerland.

All of us at the Yard knew his strength was incomparable – but every man has a breaking point...

I prayed this would not be his.


	34. Not Enough

**_Prompt #34 - Not Enough._**

* * *

"I cannot take it."

I looked at him in exasperation, seeing a more genuine mirror of my own black-garbed mourning.

"Doctor, please. He left me the flat and the majority of his possessions, but he left a certain sum for you."

Watson shook his head, blinking rapidly.

"Doctor," I went on more kindly, "you may decide to have children some day and you may need the money. I shall always have it, if so."

_That is not enough to repay what we are doing to him, Sherlock_, I thought miserably as I shut the door behind the grieving man.


	35. Sixth Sense

**_Prompt #35 - Sixth Sense._**

* * *

I heard his weary footsteps and went to meet him in the entryway.

"It's over, Mary," he whispered, sweeping me into a tight embrace, "they've all been convicted and sentenced. It's all over."

He was speaking of the gang, of course, and for a moment said nothing else. Then…

"Why did he do it, Mary?"

I knew what he was talking of, for it had haunted his last nightmare.

"He knew, John. He didn't want you to get hurt," I whispered in his ear, and he hugged me tighter with a stifled sob.

_For my sake, Mr. Holmes, thank you._


	36. Smell

**_Prompt #36 - Smell._**

* * *

I stood in the doorway of the sitting room those two gentlemen had trashed so many times over the years, surveying the damage. Not too bad, mostly from smoke rather than fire, for I'd put the blaze out right enough with the maid's help.

_Honestly, Mrs. Hudson, it's just a bit of smoke,_ I could almost hear Mr. Holmes say, that annoyed tone ringing in my head rather than in the room. _Heaven knows I've filled it with the same smell often enough!_

I felt my grip on harsh reality slip, and the unbidden smile turned more into a sob.


	37. Sound

**_Prompt #37 - Sound._**

* * *

I wondered what had awakened me, until I realised I was alone in the bed. My poor John.

I slipped noiselessly out to his study, where he always went when woken by a nightmare. How I wished he would simply awaken me so that I could share his grief!

But I stopped, not entering, for behind the door I perceived a sound I had not heard in many months – the scratch of pen on paper. Not the slow, methodical scrawling of a letter, but the rapid skittering across a page that signified his stories.

Good, he was finally writing again.


	38. Touch

**_Prompt #38 - Touch._**

* * *

"John?"

"Mmhmph?"

I smiled at his sleepy mumble and poked him playfully. He snapped awake and rolled over worriedly.

"Mmph – Mary, what's wrong?"

"Honestly, darling, you're so jumpy these days!"

"I'm still not used to the idea of fatherhood." He sighed and pulled me closer to him, gently. "I wish there were a reliable way to tell what it's going to be."

"You want a boy, don't you?" I whispered, "So you can name him after your friend."

His sad smile suddenly quirked mischievously. "Well, I hardly think a girl will appreciate our giving her a middle name like _Sherlock_."


	39. Taste

**_Prompt #39 - Taste._**

* * *

I have scorned at those who say one can be physically sickened by an emotional disturbance – but now I believe, for I can taste bile rising in my throat at the sight of this belated article, which only now reached me.

_Mary Morstan Watson, aged 34 years_…so very young!

_Childbirth_? They had been…_why, why them_? Enough wicked people in the world deserved such tragedies, but never my Watson, not in a hundred years.

An accompanying wire from Mycroft: RETURN IMMEDIATELY REGARDING ADAIR MURDER STOP YOUR TRAIN LEAVES 9 AM TOMORROW STOP M.

I reach for my luggage.


	40. Sight

**_Prompt #40 - Sight._**

* * *

I was backing away from that lout in front of 427 Park Lane, thoroughly disgusted with what the man dared to call a 'theory' (which had more holes than a sieve, I might add) when someone bumped into my back.

My books went skittering across the pavement, and as I bent to pick them up I found they already had been by someone…

I nearly dropped my disguise in that moment of shock as he dusted them off, handing them back with an embarrassed apology before departing.

Was it my imagination, or was his limp more pronounced than I'd remembered?


	41. Temptation

**_Prompt #41 - Temptation._**

* * *

For three years I had waited for this moment, considering and re-considering the countless fantastic possibilities I might employ to reveal myself to him at long last. Now the time had come, the climax of a three-year-long deception, and I suddenly found myself waffling between two alternatives as I sat facing him across his consulting-room desk, rambling about my precious books.

I supposed I could work into the thing gradually, slowly break the news to him…no. I grinned inwardly; that was far too tame a return to life.

I never have been able to resist the temptation of possible melodrama.


	42. Whisper

**_Prompt #42 - Whisper._**

* * *

I was not in time to catch him, though I did make a desperate dive to prevent his head from striking the corner of the desk as he collapsed.

For months I had anticipated the look upon his face when I would drop my disguise and reveal I was actually still among the living.

I had anticipated shock, astonishment, incredulity, and most of all that slow spreading smile I had missed sorely in the dark months of my enforced exile – but not this fearful, almost noiseless whispering my name and then crumpling in a dead faint.

What had I done?


	43. Nightmare

**_Prompt #43 - Nightmare._**

* * *

"How's that Adair murder coming?"

"Shut up."

Gregson smirked at his colleague's dark scowl, debating whether to offer pity or sarcasm. Whilst he was deciding, Hopkins stuck his head in the door.

"Erm, Inspector?"

"What is it?" both men demanded.

"Some crackpot just delivered this," the youngest of the new Inspectors said warily, handing over a folded piece of paper.

Lestrade's face blanched the colour of the foolscap, and Gregson collapsed into the nearest chair, papers and all.

"It's his writing, all right," the former moaned.

He could not decide if it were a _dream_ come true, or a _nightmare_.


	44. Bittersweet

**_Prompt #44 - Bittersweet._**

* * *

He turns his head away quickly, but not so quickly that I cannot perceive the deep wound I have given him by my words.

I told him that I chose Mycroft because I needed funds and resources, and this was his reaction…perhaps I should speak the truth, for I hate to see his joy at my return marred by yet more pain he does not deserve.

"Watson, had Moran suspected you knew of my survival, he would have immediately pursued you in search of that information."

"I would gladly have taken that chance!"

"But _I would not_, my dear friend."


	45. Guilt

**_Prompt #45 - Guilt._**

* * *

"Tibet?"

"Yes, indeed. It's a beautiful place, though I scarcely noticed."

"Naturally."

His voice and face were devoid of expression for only three seconds before he could not stop himself and burst into a fit of compulsive laughter. Apparently it was infectious, for I soon found myself grinning as well.

But my merriment faded when he offered me a match for my cigarette…the jet gleaming at his cuffs told me of an unspeakable pain that was only masked by my return, a wound that I had applied a bandage to but not any healing agents.

I should have been there.


	46. Star

**_Prompt #46 - Star._**

* * *

I made certain that all was in place as Mr. Holmes had told me to earlier.

That image of him was indeed realistic, for when I brought up the silver to set the table for the gentlemen's dinner I jumped, thinking someone was sitting there after no one had for three years other than the Doctor on an occasional trip down memory lane. I set two plates and glasses, smiling as I imagined the room occupied once again.

A few stars began to peek through the fog outside, and I turned down the gas and got out of the light.


	47. Moon

**_Prompt #47 - Moon._**

* * *

Our reunion had been startlingly warm, our dinner more conversation than food; but this was by far the best part of the extraordinary day's events. Skulking along the streets in the dark, hunting the quarry that for so long had hunted me and mine…this was the moment I had been awaiting, for all those long, dreary months.

But, I suddenly realised, perhaps there was one thing that was better still than laying this villain to heel at last.

For the first time in three years, despite the darkness of a moonless night, I did not have to watch my back.

* * *

_In case you've not heard, I shall be gone from tomorrow at 6 in the morning until about midnight on Thursday. I will catch up with you all Friday afternoon sometime - have a wonderful week and God bless!_


	48. Run

**_Prompt #48 - Run._**

* * *

Wait, was that the whistle? Can't be, Holmes said the murderer would work from the street, not from an empty house across the way…

Regardless, now isn't the time. My men and I dash across the street and up the stairs into a front room. Cummings hauls up the stunned criminal as the Doctor helps a chap (who's coughing and wheezing like a horse) to his feet and dusts him off gently.

For a moment I can't believe it, but when I see the Doctor grinning from ear to ear at the fellow, I believe it.

Sherlock Holmes is back.

* * *

_And so am I, by the way!_ :)


	49. Hide

**_Prompt #49 - Hide._**

* * *

"So it's really true then?"

I was assigning Hopkins to the next Soho murder that came along. 'Twas hard enough to stand that cocky upstart in the daytime – at one a.m. he was more insufferable than Gregson on a stakeout.

"Yes," I snapped.

"Why didn't he want his name mentioned?"

"How should I know, the man never tells me anything!"

"Why didn't he come back with you and Moran?" Hopkins asked wistfully.

I suddenly grinned, thinking of how absolutely…_silly_…both of them had looked when I left them in Baker Street – grinning idiotically at each other and completely ignoring me.


	50. Play

**_Prompt #50 - Play._**

* * *

I only smiled as there was a large crash and a twin shout of compulsive laughter that rocked the house, originating from the sitting room.

But gradually the clamour quieted, and an hour or so later I was outside the door with a coffee-pot (heaven knew 'twas needed) when I heard Mr. Holmes's violin start to play.

Pausing to listen, I heard a quiet snicker from the Doctor and a rather rude curse from Mr. Holmes as he realised just how out of tune it was.

"It's too out of tune, Watson, I'm sorry."

"I don't mind, my dear fellow."


	51. Water

**_Prompt #51 - Water._**

* * *

I tried not to laugh as Watson sat opposite me, bolting his breakfast after realising he was going to be late for his first consultation after a mostly sleepless night in my company. Not that it appeared he minded the fact.

How the man could inhale his meal and still pester me with incessant questions without a breach of manners was a phenomenon to be observed…

I gave a yelp as the ubiquitous morning London rain lashed through the broken window, drenching the back of my dressing gown.

Ah well…'twas a small price to pay to hear him laugh again.


	52. Fire

**_Prompt #52 - Fire._**

* * *

I glanced up from my dusting when the sitting room banged open and the Doctor came flying out, buttoning his jacket as he pounded downstairs.

"Wait two seconds, I'll go with you!" Mr. Holmes's bellowing had not lost its power to rattle the gas-jets, unfortunately.

The Doctor threw me an apologetic glance before bolting out the door, shouting for a cab.

I'd always recalled Mr. Holmes's eyes being cold and icy…but they certainly were not that morning as he flew past me after his friend.

I smiled knowingly and went upstairs to air out the linen in the Doctor's room.


	53. Earth

**_Prompt #53 - Earth._**

* * *

"Sherlock, what on earth…? I've no time to bother with your monetary difficulties." I glared at the young idiot, who was standing between my paperwork and the light.

"Mycroft, you froze my assets in '91, and now the bank won't believe that I'm alive!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Would you?"

"_Brother mine_," he began with all the patience of a toddler, "I am going out for lunch and _I need access to my bank account_!"

After I performed the necessary legalities, Sherlock thanked me through clenched teeth and banged the door upon exiting.

Honestly. Watson could have him, and welcome.


	54. Air

**_Prompt #54 - Air._**

* * *

"I told you already, I don't know when he's coming with that air-gun, he just said today sometime," I snapped.

"Had he changed at all, Inspector?"

"If I have to listen to one more line of hero-worship from you, Hopkins, I shall be sending you out on the next Soho murder that comes along, do you hear me?"

I would have continued (with pleasure), had the upstart's eyes not fixed themselves over my shoulder, his mouth dropping and closing like a common pond goldfish.

_Ferret-faced_, the good Doctor had called me…I looked forward to reading 'fish-faced Stanley Hopkins' in a future _Strand_.


	55. Spirit

**_Prompt #55 - Spirit._**

* * *

I sat up straighter as the two blokes approached me cab – you can allus tell a tippin' fare from just a payin' one – in hopes that two such toffs wouldn' want to muddy their shiny shoes.

"Well, that was certainly a _spirited_ luncheon," the taller chap sniggered.

"Are you referring to the vintage port, or the fact that the headwaiter dropped a tray of dishes upon seeing a ghost in the restaurant?" the other returned, with a grin so wide the ends near met behind his head.

I blinked. Ghost? Maybe I didn't want them in me cab after all…


	56. Breakfast

**_Prompt #56 - Breakfast._**

* * *

I nearly spat my coffee upon the table when my door banged open and my brother skidded to a stop in my kitchen.

"Sherlock, what the devil! How did you get in here?"

"One would think Her Majesty would have a more modern lock installed on Mr. British Government's front door," he smirked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Knowing remonstrance was useless, I resorted to merely hoping he burnt his mouth badly enough to prevent talking temporarily.

"Couldn't you be annoying the Doctor instead of disrupting my breakfast?"

"He's got patients booked until noon. You're the consolation prize, brother."


	57. Lunch

**_Prompt #57 - Lunch._**

* * *

I kept the smile plastered to my face while bidding farewell to my last patient, a confirmed hypochondriac who was now thanking me profusely for helping her to feel "ever so much better, Doctor."

So busy was I in trying to unobtrusively extricate my hand from hers and shut the outer door that I did not notice the only remaining occupant of the waiting-room until I managed to close the door and hastily turn the lock with relief, eliciting a quiet burst of laughter from him.

"Rough morning?"

"Ugh."

"Mrs. Hudson's got luncheon waiting for us. Doing anything this afternoon?"


	58. Dinner

**_Prompt #58 - Dinner._**

* * *

I scanned the patrons of the restaurant eagerly, looking for the single face that I could spot anywhere in a crowd…ah, there by the window.

Dear Watson, he still remembered that I preferred a table where I could have my back to the wall but also where I could look out upon the kaleidoscope of life that passed obligingly by for my benefit.

He glanced up with a smile.

"Sorry I'm late, I got chased by a _Globe_ reporter in Oxford Street," I explained ruefully.

He grinned mischievously. "The undead have always been prime fodder for the tabloids, you know."


	59. Food

**_Prompt #59 - Food._**

* * *

Watson yelped and I dropped a forkful of my pasta when the flash temporarily blinded us. I blinked in time to see a small young fellow, pencil behind his ear and camera in hand, pelting for the door of the restaurant.

"What the devil –"

"He took our picture, Holmes!"

"He'll be a rich man by tomorrow, selling that to the highest bidding paper," I growled, trying to ignore the many stares we were now receiving from amused and irritated fellow diners.

Watson's face grew worried suddenly.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I had my eyes closed."

"Oh, for heaven's sake…"


	60. Drink

**_Prompt #60 - Drink._**

* * *

Watson exploded into laughter, tossing the evening edition of the _Standard_ in my general direction.

"Read that," he chortled, reaching for a cigarette, as the cigar supply had not been replaced in three years – I certainly only rarely smoked the things and just kept them around for him.

"_Sherlock Holmes Solves Greatest Mystery of All – **Death**_," I read in dismay. "What the –"

"Lovely, isn't it? Front page, four columns of drivel that make my stories look like textbook lectures. Here, what are you doing – don't burn that, Holmes, I want to save it!"

I moaned. "I need a drink."


	61. Winter

**_Prompt #61 - Winter._**

* * *

"You're quite sure you've room for all these?"

"If not, I shall make room – Mrs. Hudson has already been hounding me about disposing of some of my old case relics," I replied with a grin, handing down the books from his top shelf so that he needn't strain his shoulder in reaching that high.

He smiled up at me, packing the books into the box beside him almost reverently as I reached for the final book and hopped off the stool.

I felt a sudden chill in the room as he paled – I had not realised it was his wedding album.


	62. Spring

**_Prompt #62 - Spring._**

* * *

"Is it wrong of me, do you suppose?" he whispered.

"Is what, old fellow?"

"Look at me, Holmes," he sighed, gesturing to the still full mourning he wore. "Is it wrong of me to be able to be so happy about your return, when I'm supposed to be grieving? I feel as if I don't have the right…"

I flinched involuntarily, completely at a loss.

Outside, the rain of a London spring that had seemed refreshingly cheerful two minutes previously now appeared coldly depressing…

…as if the entire world were weeping over the injustice dealt to the most undeserving people.


	63. Summer

**_Prompt #63 - Summer._**

* * *

I did not return to Baker Street that night.

It was nearly dawn when he finally fell asleep in his chair, after a long, stormy night both out-of-doors and indoors.

As he had no patients scheduled until noon I did not wake him but rather sat amidst the packing cases in the nearly-empty room, pondering.

Heaven knows I must be the worst comforter on the planet, unable to quite understand grief and all its forms…but apparently he had merely wanted a listening ear – and that I could do.

A glow of sunlight peeked into the room – the storm was over.


	64. Autumn

**_Prompt #64 - Autumn._**

* * *

September was definitely noteworthy month that year 1894.

We returned from a month abroad to recover from the near-deadly steamship _Friesland_ case.

The plane tree behind the house decided to deposit its foliage in bulk in the yard during one particularly fierce thunderstorm, carpeting the lawn in orange and smothering Mrs. Hudson's chrysanthemums.

Inspector Lestrade got in over his head with an absurdly commonplace jewel theft, making a record three trips in one day to consult me on the matter.

For the first time, Watson came to the breakfast table in a brown suit instead of black.


	65. Time

**_Prompt #65 - Time._**

* * *

It was all wrong. Every instinct I possessed screamed it – but the evidence all fell neatly into place on Lestrade's side of the camp. To make matters worse, that insufferable scoundrel knew it, and gloated over the fact.

I had not tasted failure since my return six months ago; it appeared this was to be the first. I was not going to win, not this time. I would fail, Lestrade would triumph, and my client would hang for murder.

"I _swear_ it's wrong," I growled angrily to Watson while heading to Norwood.

"For what it's worth, Holmes, I believe you."


	66. Rain

**_Prompt #66 - Rain._**

* * *

Two men glared accusatorily across a sodden carpet, the only other sound being a steady drip-dropping of water. Then…

"This is completely your fault! If you hadn't opened that window last night –"

"I _opened_ it because you were half-asphyxiating me with those fumes, Holmes!" the doctor retorted. "That's _one_ thing I didn't miss in three years!"

"The logical action is to _close_ a window after leaving the room, not invite a thunderstorm inside! We shan't be able to receive clients for days!"

"We might not ever, once Mrs. Hudson finishes with us," Watson said mournfully.

Holmes flinched. "Breakfast out?"


	67. Snow

**_Prompt #67 - Snow._**

* * *

The fluffy flakes outside brought a smile to my face – I loved the first indication of the approaching holidays.

The warmth only spread when I entered the sitting room to find Sherlock Holmes huddled before the fire in his warmest dressing-gown.

"Morning."

"It's freezing," he snarled.

"Oh, come on. You spent nine months in _Tibet_ – surely they received more than a half-inch of snowfall?"

"If you are going to be so confoundedly cheerful, I should appreciate it if you would spend the day at your club, Doctor."

"Scrooge."

I only laughed and deflected the wadded-up _Times_ flying at my head.


	68. Lightning

**_Prompt #68 - Lightning._**

* * *

When the door had slammed behind our visitor, I turned reprovingly to Holmes. He had not budged from his boredly reclined fireside position.

"Really, Holmes," I said severely. "You might have shown a bit more patience."

"Coddling to stupidity is hardly profitable for either party, Watson," he snapped irritably. "The man should know by now that only the relevant interests me."

"Just because Lestrade's not as quick-thinking as you doesn't give you the right to be rude," I remonstrated. "You never talk that way to _me_ when I don't follow your thought processes."

His clenched jaw relaxed slightly. "That's different."


	69. Thunder

**_Prompt #69 - Thunder._**

* * *

"You really should wait this out, y'know," Thurston said as a peal of thunder crashed outside.

"Can't, I promised Holmes I would leave at eight – we've a case to discuss," I sighed wearily.

"You'll have a devil of a time finding a cab in this."

"Best be starting, then. Good-night."

As the door shut against the deluge, I was accosted by a roughly-clad fellow holding a whip.

"Hoi, you be named John Watson?"

"Yes…" I replied warily.

"Gentleman paid me a sovereign to be waitin' on ye, sir. Had me drive all th' way from Baker Street too, 'e did."


	70. Storm

**_Prompt #70 - Storm._**

* * *

I sit moodily before this warm fire, listening to the howling January wind rattle the windows and hearing his slow footsteps ascending the stairs.

I still don't know quite what happened; the little I could pry out of him had something to do with an accident happening in front of him tonight on icy roads, and a child dying – more than that he refused to tell me.

Fifteen years ago, I would never have thought myself capable of worrying so much over another man. Is it so wrong of me to be glad the accident was someone else, not him?


	71. Broken

**_Prompt #71 - Broken._**

_With a nudge from Pompey, a continuation._

* * *

I had entertained the hope that he had dropped off to sleep, until I was awakened from my own dozing by a muted cry breaking though my open door before fading into a silence that my imagination fills with its own horrors.

He already made it clear that conversation would not be of help – specially _my_ conversation, clueless as I am regarding sensitive matters.

He has started pacing again. What can I do?

Verbal comfort I cannot give, but perhaps…

I squirm on the hard stair and lift my Stradivarius to my chin, beginning one of his slower, softer favourites.


	72. Fixed

**_Prompt #72 - Fixed._**

_More continuation._

* * *

I had half-expected, when halfway through the composition I heard his door creak open, that I should be receiving company shortly. But when he did not appear, requesting me to leave him alone, I took that as approval to continue and began another song when that first had finished.

I was greeted with the applause of silence for my performance; possibly a very good thing or very bad. I crept softly up the rest of the flight to ascertain which.

Yes, _very_ good.

I silently turned the gas down but not off and left the door cracked, just in case.


	73. Light

**_Prompt #73 - Light._**

* * *

"Why must I hold the lantern?"

It was troublesome, grasping my revolver and a carpet-bag in one hand and a light in the other. Holmes, naturally, held nothing – and he could single-handedly pick the shed-lock, surely.

"Stop that infernal complaining," he snapped. "Now keep still, or we might not live to argue the matter further."

A rifle shot rang out. I gasped, dropping the lantern, as it shattered in my hand.

"Watson! Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I whispered finally, and he sighed wearily into the darkness, searching for our assailant.

"You win. Next time, _I_ shall hold the light."


	74. Dark

**_Prompt #74 - Dark._**

_I'm experimenting with dialogue, and practising for a Halloween oneshot for **Holidays**..._

* * *

"I can't see a thing."

"That is the natural state of affairs when one is encompassed in total darkness, Watson."

"Yes, I had noticed the tendency. When are we going to get out of this tunnel? I thought you said it only led from the mansion to the spring-house."

"When I am able to perceive the future or see in the dark, you shall be the first to know. Now come on."

"Augh! I can find my way on my own; don't grab my wrist like that. Besides, your fingers are unnaturally cold."

"Watson."

"What."

"I am not touching you."


	75. Shade

**_Prompt #75 - Shade._**

_Continuation by popular demand, though technically complete darkness isn't actually Shade..._

* * *

I did not scream, a fact for which I remain devoutly grateful and not a little proud.

I did, however, give a kind of high-pitched, panicking yelp and attempted to pry the icy clamp off my wrist, albeit unsuccessfully.

Finally, in desperation, I struck out blindly in the blackness, and my fist connected with something softer than the tunnel wall, and (thankfully) very much of flesh-and-blood.

I heard an explosion of muffled swearing before the freezing fingers released me. Then a sudden fit of maniacal laughter reverberated off the stone tunnel walls.

"My dear Watson, you are so childishly gullible."


	76. Grief

**_Prompt #76 - Grief._**

* * *

"But Mr. Holmes –"

"I am sorry; I have a previous engagement and tomorrow is just simply impossible," I said firmly, shutting the door behind my client after a short heated discussion.

I remained there, scowling for a moment, before walking past my somewhat damp-eyed friend to light my pipe.

"You did not have to do that, Holmes."

"No," I agreed. "But, my dear fellow, though I do not profess to fully understand grief, I most assuredly do _honour_ it. I will not drag you out of London, _case or no case_, on the anniversary of your wife's death. Ever."


	77. Tears

**_Prompt #77 - Tears._**

* * *

He remained in his room all day, a distance I respected until the wind increased and the temperature dropped dramatically. I knew she would never have wanted him risking his health walking in such weather as had in the end taken her young life.

I knocked gently and the door opened almost instantly.

"Storm's going to hit within the hour, old fellow," I reported quietly.

He blinked rapidly, then nodded and turned for his coat.

"Do you need me to go with you?"

Slight hesitation, then "No, thank you."

"Let me rephrase that. Do you _want_ me to go with you?"

"Please."


	78. Lies

**_Prompt #78 - Lies._**

_Reminder: This series is based upon Canon, not Granada Canon, so the Moroccan case's resting place here would be the mantel and not the desk drawer._

* * *

I've made a blunder, and I have a sinking feeling that a storm is impending. My dear Doctor has apparently more perception than one would believe from his self-effacing manner, and I have been a capital fool not to see that before now.

I was even more of a fool to tell him I had not even given my cocaine a thought of late, when in reality I used the syringe whilst he was gone all day.

How was I to know he had checked it for cobwebs before leaving this morning and found them gone upon checking again tonight?


	79. Truth

**_Prompt #79 - Truth._**

* * *

His obvious observation of "Holmes, this has to stop" is not helpful in the least. He need not tell me a fact that I already am painfully aware of.

He simply does not understand; how could he? The man loves life and everything about it; I despise this miserable existence. He is a soldier and will be until the day he dies fighting; I believe it easier and less painful to escape than do battle with an enemy I know is far stronger than I.

"Let me help you," he says earnestly, but I well know the truth.

"You can't."


	80. Lost

**_Prompt #80 - Lost._**

* * *

"You don't understand – you can't possibly!"

"Can't I?"

Something in his voice causes me to look up at him, and he is transfixing me with a sharply penetrating gaze. What is he saying?

"You don't think there were times – numberless times – that I wished for and indulged in morphine after Maiwand, and even after I returned to England?" he demands.

My mouth has gone dry. "You…"

"No, I never became addicted to it," he says softly. "But I do know how strong the temptation is. And I know it is capable of being beaten. You – _we_ – can do this, Holmes."


	81. Tease

**_Prompt #81 - Tease._**

* * *

"It cannot be done," I state coldly – not out of a desire to hurt him but of truthfulness, for I know too well the mocking allure of its power. "It is not possible. I simply cannot just refrain from using it for the rest of my life."

"I _don't_ wish you to refrain from it for the rest of your life," he replies softly, causing me to look up in surprise. "Or even for years or months or days."

"No?"

"No," he says gently. "All you have to do, my dear Holmes, is refrain from using it _the next time_."


	82. Anger

**_Prompt #82 - Anger._**

* * *

Being caught in the act after three months of supposed abstinence undid any good those months had done.

"For the last time," Holmes snapped through his teeth. "You are _not my doctor_!"

The words hung in the air, disseminating a more deadly poison than that which floated in the bottle and syringe the detective held. Watson turned away, his eyes dimming.

"Correct. For some reason…I thought perhaps being your _friend_ would be sufficient," he whispered before closing the door.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was not happy about the amount of glass she found in the dead fire next morning.


	83. Shy

**_Prompt #83 - Shy._**

* * *

I believe my character cannot possibly be any more grating than Sherlock's; therefore I assumed intimidation due to size and intelligence resulted in Watson's being glued to my brother when in my presence.

On this occasion, I attempted to include the Doctor in the deductive trouncing I was giving Sherlock.

"Can you tell me that man's occupation, Doctor?" I prompted.

"Erm…" He fumbled for a moment, glancing desperately at my apparently oblivious, fidgeting sibling.

I was astounded moments later when he ventured a timid but entirely correct deduction – until I realised Sherlock's nervous tapping upon the table was in Morse.


	84. Love

**_Prompt #84 - Love._**

_For those who wanted more Sherlock/Mycroft/Watson interaction, and in honour of the holiday season:_

* * *

After a half-hour of sorting Admiralty paperwork, I was quite willing to rest my eyes and open a Christmas card delivered earlier today.

_Mr. Holmes:_

_Wishing you the warmest compliments of the season._

_Sincerely yours,_

_John Watson_

A laugh rose unbidden in my throat when I scanned the scrawling addendum, as Sherlock's atrocious approximation of English penmanship was unmistakable.

_Redundancy is infuriating, compulsory joviality more so. See above. S._

Obviously Sherlock was rather irritated at the Doctor's holiday arm-twisting.

I pictured that scenario with great amusement; for the only thing possibly more entertaining than _one_ cross younger brother would be _two_.


	85. Hate

**_Prompt #85 - Hate._**

* * *

I let the Doctor ahead of me, remaining behind to prepare my men for reaching our counterfeiter without his realising the infiltration.

When we reached Rogers seconds later, I rubbed my eyes, cursing my stupidity at allowing Watson to precede officials. What'd I been thinking?

Cummings swore roundly, his eyes agog like an urchin at a birthday party; the sight greeting us was anything but.

"I've never seen him – I mean, the _Doctor_? – like that," he gasped.

"Rogers is just lucky that Holmes is going to _live_," I sighed, rubbing my eyes wearily and darting to prevent another attempted homicide.


	86. Found

**_Prompt #86 - Found._**

* * *

The _Gare du Nord_ sparkled brilliantly as a Christmas tree. Even after midnight, this metropolis remained wide-awake; the bustling platform could easily overwhelm one unaccustomed to Paris at holidaytime.

His endearing look of bewilderment as he descended, dodging porters and fellow-travelers, was a warming sight after a half-week away from home on this case. I pushed through the crowd, calling his name. Hearing English, he whirled round, flashing me a smile of relief.

"Any excuse to not celebrate a holiday," he grumbled good-naturedly.

"Oh, come on. You know you wouldn't miss the climax for all the champagne in the world."


	87. Life

**_Prompt #87 - Life._**

* * *

With the arrival of the new century came the realisation that neither of us would see our mid-forties again. Said realisation focused into painful clarity one evening when we were nearly killed by bungling amateurs that in earlier days would not have stood a chance against us.

The first morning after he was released from the hospital he caught me perusing several portfolios a Sussex-based real estate agent had sent me.

The second morning, he requested permission to begin publishing stories again, giving as his reason the fact that he needed to start saving some extra money.

Times were changing.


	88. Fear

**_Prompt #88 - Fear._**

_Explanatory Note: I've been re-reading the Last collection and the Case-book, and found to my surprise (I didn't remember this) that 3GAR happened in June 1902, and ILLU in September of that year - a mere three months between them, and Watson is stated to have been living in Queen Anne Street in ILLU but not 3GAR._

* * *

The fit passed in time: I put away illusions of seaside cottages, his _Strand_ payment sat untouched in his banking account. A year came and went, and then another, less notably than those preceding them.

Then one night in June 1902, my life exploded into a nightmare that barely faded with the realisation that this time – _this_ time – no deathly harm had been done by our being too slow in the capture of Killer Evans.

I was miserable, but not entirely surprised, when during his convalescence he stated quietly that he had bought a medical practice in Queen Anne Street.


	89. Hero

**_Prompt #89 - Hero._**

* * *

Even through a morphine-and-pain-induced haze, I recognised his tread; no one else could take seventeen steps that quickly and still limp (a consideration in his move was the pain involved in stair-climbing).

Surprisingly, the next few days were all business; I could, however, see a storm was imminent, and it broke ten minutes after Sir James's departure.

Two hours later, his words still rang in my mind long after I ascertained he had safely descended the stairs in his disturbed state. Painful to hear, they were _true_.

Rampant hero-work was best left to the younger generation. I was _not_ invincible.

Not alone.


	90. Villain

**_Prompt #90 - Villain._**

* * *

When I appeared next evening in Watson's consulting-room, he was both relieved and displeased that I had ventured out. I waved off his apology while settling gingerly into a chair.

He pulled his desk-chair around the desk to sit beside me instead of opposite me, and I finally conjured up the nerve to begin.

"I've no intention of retiring simply because a few villains have been fortunate enough to catch me off my guard or be faster than I," I stated directly. _Not yet, anyway._

His deeply-worried eyes closed momentarily. "Then you _must_ be more careful," he whispered at last.


	91. Slave

**_Prompt #91 - Slave._**

* * *

Holmes's recovery from the Gruner case was slower than either of us would have liked; while his physical strength had not faltered over time, age takes its toll on the body's ability to be resilient from abuse. This was compounded by the fact that, having once been enslaved to the drug, he refused himself morphine or any other pain reliever even upon my suggestion.

So great was his consequential chafing at recovery that he fairly pounced upon me, wringing my hand heartily when I called with a few books for his perusal, one of which detailed the hobby of apiculture.


	92. Freedom

**_Prompt #92 - Freedom._**

* * *

I took a motor-taxi to Baker Street. They made the streets freer of one unpleasant odour and decreased the number of tetanus cases I would be forced to treat in London.

I had expected Holmes to be dressed for the theatre and waiting for me but found him sprawled upon the floor, poring over a goodly volume illustrated with colour plates of drones and workers.

"How long has it been since you had a case?"

"Mmph? Oh. Evening, Watson; I've no idea. Take a look at this!"

At least he had discovered _something_ to occupy his brain in his ennui.


	93. Quest

**_Prompt #93 - Quest._**

* * *

Though in past years Holmes had to some extent mellowed, not merely welcoming but even instigating my companionship, it still surprised me when one evening in August he planned a theatre date and dinner for no apparent reason.

I could sense his unease, and I was unsurprised when he asked me to walk back to Baker Street with him, needing to clear his head with fresh air. I knew in reality he wanted to tell me something, and I suspected already what it could be.

Even so, when he quietly told me his decision, I struggled to find my voice.


	94. Journey

**_Prompt #94 - Journey._**

* * *

My week was filled with heatstroke victims due to dangerous temperatures; it was with relief I accepted his invitation for a weekend in Sussex, to inspect some prospective cottages along the Downs.

I remembered Holmes had said, just before we fled England in 1891, that he was in a position to retire most comfortably, due to his services to Scandinavian royalty and the French republic. Twelve years later, he was finally touching that money.

I was not sure whether to laugh or cry when he informed me he was giving up his pet hobby of chemistry in favour of bee-keeping.


	95. Triumph

**_Prompt #95 - Triumph._**

* * *

His eyes sought my face; seeking my approval and more importantly my blessing upon the end of our era.

"Are you quite sure…that this is what you want?"

"More than sure." His answer was equally hoarse. "Watson…there is no pleasure in it anymore. It's all been done before, most of it by me." My eyes stung, and his softened affectionately. "I am certain, old friend. It is time to take a bow and exit the stage." His eyes flicked hauntedly to my walking-stick, a constant companion since acquiring another leg wound last year. "Failure or slowness is too costly now."


	96. Extreme

**_Prompt #96: Author's Choice - Extreme._**

* * *

"Retiring." The elder man could scarcely believe his ears; he had gathered the impression that his brother would die in the harness, so to speak.

The complete peace in the younger's eyes bespoke otherwise. "Yes, Mycroft."

"When?"

"Probably the middle of October," Sherlock said calmly.

"You needn't be so extreme, you know," Mycroft frowned. "If it is the work you've lost interest in, I could quite easily find you –"

"No, brother." The younger man smiled, shaking his head. "I have another, albeit smaller, royal personage to devote my time to now."

Mycroft Holmes decided retirement was preferable to madness.


	97. Distance

**_Prompt #97: Author's Choice - Distance._**

* * *

Hopkins's wistful "Why so soon?" I could not explain, and I gently suggested he call on Holmes despite the detective's protests. Ten minutes later, he left Lestrade and me alone.

"I'm not here about Mr. Holmes," my oldest official acquaintance said bluntly. "Are we losing you too, Doctor?"

I was touched by the word choice, and I shook my head with a smile that was warmly returned before the little Inspector departed. He paused in the doorway and looked back at me.

"Sussex isn't too far, but far enough, Doctor. If you need anything, do call one of us, eh?"


	98. Affection

**_Prompt #98: Author's Choice - Affection._**

* * *

After supper, the detective suddenly flabbergasted his landlady by requesting she be seated at the table.

The Doctor flashed her a reassuring glance as she hesitantly sat, and Mr. Holmes began to outline, to her shock, that he had provided for her own retirement whenever she wished (indeed, she could not work thus for much longer).

When she managed to gasp bewilderedly, "Why?" both gentlemen smiled, but Mr. Holmes spoke first.

"Mrs. Hudson, you are the most marvelous woman I have ever met," said he gallantly, eyes twinkling.

The Doctor snorted into his port. "_And_ one of the most long-suffering."


	99. Memory

**_Prompt #99: Author's Choice - Memory._**

* * *

"I say, d'you remember this, from that Camberwell poisoning?" Holmes sat back on his heels, brandishing a rusted door-knocker.

"I thought you had got rid of that." Watson chuckled, neatly packing Holmes's books. He paused, seeing one of his friend's journals inscribed with the dates 1891-1893, and hesitantly opened it.

Before he could read, the book was gently closed by Holmes's hands on either side of his own. "I want you to keep that, my dear fellow," the detective said softly.

Watson smiled. "You do know your telephone will be ringing incessantly with my questions?"

"I am counting on it."


	100. Beginning

**_Prompt #100: Author's Choice - Beginning._**

* * *

"Oh, my dear fellow…" Holmes gently clasped his friend's quivering shoulder. "It is not the end of everything..."

Watson flinched as the whistle blew, and it became Holmes's turn to swallow hard as his hand was gripped and clung to. How could the world go on about them as if nothing of importance were transpiring?

"I cannot bear to see you like this. Say the word, and I shan't –"

"No." Watson smiled, for he knew Holmes meant it. "Go on, old chap."

The no-longer detective's eyes glistened as the compartment door was closed. "Take care, my friend," he whispered.

* * *

_And so end the prompts...though not their subject matter. _

_I do have another set of prompts that will probably spark another drabble set, because I had far too much fun with this one; so you may watch for them sometime soon. Until then, thank you for reading and reviewing!_


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